


To Himling: Part Five

by vetiverite



Series: To Himling [5]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brain Injury, Brothers, Coma, Durin Family, Durin Family Angst, Durin Family Feels, Durincest, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven Politics, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Espionage, Gentle Sex, Ghost Thorin, Ghost Thrain, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Intrigue, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Orgasm Delay, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seizures, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Tauriel? Who's Tauriel?, tropes tropes tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-07-25 16:17:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20028706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/vetiverite
Summary: The brothers believe they have always been one.  Now they're beginning to learn all that being one can mean.





	1. Forgiven

Early the next morning, Fíli watched Kíli plait his hair.

_(You are so beautiful.)_

So long out of the sun, Kíli’s hair shone like polished ebony in the lamplight. He drew it back from his face, revealing a high, broad forehead like Thorin’s, smooth but for the scars that made his face his own. 

_(You are so beautiful.)_

His beard had come in, still too short to braid but full and black and comely, balancing the bold raven-wing brows and the dark, guileless eyes below. Some mourned that the wild light in those eyes had given way to gravity. But Fíli, carrying that weight himself, did not think that it lessened the light. 

_You are so beautiful, _he said aloud at last. 

Knotting a leather thong around his finished braid, Kíli looked up and returned his brother’s gaze with one equally unguarded. A slow, loving cat’s blink, lashes long and black against his cheeks. 

_Are you ready, Nadad?_ he said. 

_Yes, Naddith,_ said Fíli.


	2. Blessing

They let themselves into Dís’ sitting room and gingerly shut the door. 

She’d expected manly scowls, stubborn silence. But like confident lambs, her sons came directly to her and lowered themselves to the rug at her feet. Kíli, her trusting child, rested his chin on her knee; Fíli, usually so reserved, hid his face in her lap. 

A plea for her blessing: how could she not give it? Dís placed her hands on her sons’ heads — one tawny, one black, her day and her night – and stated, _Yesterday was bad. Today will be better._

She did not mention tomorrow. 

_The aldermen took me by surprise, too,_ she continued. _Dáin thinks that you need more time. He wants to come in person so that we can talk things over calmly as a family. But some people are hasty and impatient._ She laughed wryly. _Perhaps their wives are in a rush to order their coronation gowns._

Neither son smiled. 

_If you think I do not understand your true feelings, know this, _she told them. _I made a point of describing to our guests exactly how Thorin died. I told them of my sons’ wounds, and all that they have suffered since. I named the number of the dead— Elves and Men as well as Khazâd; women and children as well as warriors. I spared them nothing. Now they know what Erebor cost. There will be no more talk of riches and future prospects and the glory of war— at least not in my house._

Her sons again did not smile, but their tired eyes burned with pride. It pleased Dís to see Kíli reach for Fíli; she knew he would always be his elder brother’s loyal deputy. 

_You were up all night,_ she observed. 

Kíli studied the hearthfire with great and sudden interest. 

_Not all,_ replied Fíli. 

_But most. I want no patrols today; you may go outside, but stay close. Tell Fenja to feed you first. And no wine— you see, I know all! And if I didn’t know better, I would say the two of you are still drunk._


	3. Peace

Fenja caught Fíli by the chin and peered sharply into his eyes, just as when ferreting out the ale’s disappearance or the theft of a fresh honeycomb. But instead of launching accusations – for of course, she knew all about yesterday’s fiasco – she opened her arms. _Come._

At the sight of his Nadad-Mim being petted, Kíli grinned like a fool. _Don’t mock; you’re next, _Fenja warned. 

A short while later, two contented brothers sat by the stove dunking huge wedges of cake into bowls of warm milk. 

_Such mighty men, these Durins!_ Fenja smiled to herself.

___________________ 

All afternoon they lay on a hillside within sight of the stronghold— not touching, for there would be time enough for it; not talking, for their peace was complete. 

Despite all, Fíli felt happy. Everything had changed; nothing was certain, but even this tangled complexity felt proper and perfect. _The future is a phantom,_ he thought. _Here and now is real._

Eyes shut, he stroked the fine-textured grass, combed his fingers through it, imagining it to be Kíli’s thick, soft hair. Unseen, Kíli did the same, reliving the memory of cradling his brother’s head as he cried out, as he came. 

_Fílimê,_ Kíli whispered. _My Fíli._

_Kílimê,_ Fíli replied. _My Kíli._

All afternoon they lay on the hillside— dreaming without fear, because they could; because it did not have to remain a dream.


	4. Vow

Only on the ascent to their room did Kíli hesitate. He had rushed Fíli at first, but the higher they climbed, the more transparent his nerves became. On the last landing he stopped and took up Fíli’s hand, toying with his fingers, matching their palms together to see whose hand was larger. 

_Zanid?_ Fíli coaxed, tilting his head to reassure Kíli with a smile. 

Kíli’s eyelashes flickered. He kissed Fíli’s knuckles and then tugged him toward the final flight. 

In the carnelian light of the sinking sun, they lay fully clothed on their bed, yearning to merge. Last night had been awkward, neither of them sure how to move, where to put their hands, what to do with their need. This time they knew better. 

Their lips met and fused; lightning zigzagged its way through all of their nerves. Fíli gently sucked his brother’s tongue into his own mouth and felt him tense with pleasure— 

_(so lovely)_

—but impatient Kíli could not contain himself; all former shyness erased, soon he rolled on top. Sliding his hands under Fíli’s shoulder blades, he lowered his head to slip his tongue again between Fíli’s parted lips, moaning slightly and pressing his hips forward as his brother once more began to suck. 

_(sweet, so sweet)_

Wanting Kíli’s bare skin under his hands, Fíli pulled the back of his tunic up and caressed him with both palms. Up and out over his shoulders, down his heaving sides, a brief soft flicker of fingers at his waist, then following his spine up and up to the starting point. Slowly, lightly, _again, again, again,_ until Kíli caught his wrists with a cry of frustration and held them to the pillow. In old days this would have been an invitation to play-fight, but not now. They stared at one another, breathless with love and arousal. 

Slowly Kíli’s fingers loosened and slid from Fíli’s wrists. _Nadad,_ he said in a choked whisper. _Nadad._

At once Fíli sensed the undercurrent of panic in his brother’s voice; perhaps he feared that all of this might vanish or be inexplicably withdrawn. He pulled Kíli down, held him tight, cheek to cheek and breast to breast, heat and hardness safe between. 

_Naddith, I’m here with you,_ he said. _We're together. We won't be parted now._

Kíli gradually relaxed against Fíli. Once his breath slowed, he murmured, _You’re all nnn...new to me, and also not. As if th… there were two of you. I look for one and find the other. I wwwant both._

_I know. I know. _The rush of love that Kíli’s nearness provoked in Fíli was astounding, soul-rattling. He spoke it aloud: _You have always been in my breath and my bones. How could anybody be closer to me than that?_

Suddenly the unbearable urgency was his. He slid his hand down between their bodies, speaking words of demand that had never passed his lips before. _Us two, Kílimê, us two forever. Yes?_

_Yes,_ Kíli vowed. _Yes._

There could be no kiss deeper than that which followed, except the next and the next. And though they did not see it clearly then or for months yet, in that moment and from that moment they were wed.


	5. Healing

Every morning now, they swam upward from blessed, dreamless sleep together. Lovely without fail was that moment of first opening their eyes to one another— a sight that each sunrise made beautiful anew. 

Fíli rose first, leaving Kíli to rest a little longer in their warm bed. He washed himself by the fire, dressed, and knelt before the altar to Thorin. 

As yet, Mahal lay beyond his reach; he bowed to a more familiar spirit. He reached out into the void and Thorin answered; out of the darkness came that ferocious father-love that could not be mistaken. Mahal might occasionally glance down upon his creations with favor, but Thorin _loved_ him. That Fíli would never forget. 

Eyes closed, he touched his forehead to the stones. His brother, now risen, waited and watched from the hearthside. 

Praying came hard to Kíli— not for lack of gratitude, but of understanding. He trusted only what was tangible, so the idea of Mahal confused him. How could a disembodied god hear his grief or give him comfort? Dís always said that the Lady of the Earth would be better for Kíli; at least he could see and feel and touch her holy creations all around him. But most of all Kíli missed Thorin, and Thorin had become like Mahal— a spirit that could not hold or be held. 

Kíli almost always cried during prayer, sacrificing his tears upon the stones. He wept hard, sometimes so hard his breath came in agonized gasps. Fíli worried that the catharsis took more from his brother than it gave. But it left Kíli peaceful, returned him to the world he could see and feel and touch. Thorin was a ghost, but the map of Himling in its pewter frame was real. The hard stone floor upon which Kíli prostrated himself was real. The saltiness of tears was real. 

After prayer, the brothers sat cross-legged on the bed so that Kíli could plait Fíli’s hair. This was his proud duty – as it had once been Fíli’s for Thorin – but love turned it into idolatry. He spent as much time kissing Fíli’s nape and shoulders as combing tangles from his mane. As he braided Fíli’s mustache, he deliberately awakened his brother’s lips with his fingers. When he was done he worshipped those lips with the tip of his tongue until Fíli’s breath shuddered in his chest. 

Fíli was real. Love was real. 

To leave their room at all required the greatest of mutual efforts. 

Midmorning found them with Bhurin in the practice yard, now exorcised of its demons. Following drills, Fíli studied in Thorin’s library while Kíli tended his bees. At noon they ate with their friends and left laughing with them afterwards, heading off to shape iron and stoke fires. 

While they continued to roam the deer forest, the brothers never again hunted. It seemed sacrilegious to carry tools of death into the place where the totem of their love walked. Now and again she crossed their path; never approaching, but also never fleeing. _She knows us,_ Kíli exclaimed. Echoing Dís, Fíli suggested that they name their doe Zabdûna after the blessed Lady of the Earth. But no. _She is Dajnûna, _insisted Kíli, as if she’d told him herself. _Dajnûna:_ She Who Brings Hope. 

As always, evenings were spent with Dís in her sitting room. As always, she and Fíli discussed the day while Kíli listened, smiling or scowling when a response was required. His speech had improved somewhat over time, but he still seemed to prefer not talking at all over failing to do it right. No matter: there were other modes of expression. 

Sometimes mother and sons conducted entire conversations in hand-signs and laughter. Sometimes they played music together; Fenja and Bhurin joined in with harmony and critique. But the best evenings were the silent easy ones, when the only sound was Dís’ humming as she sewed, and Fíli sat watching her needle vanish and reappear through folds of cloth while Kíli dozed on his shoulder. 

Love brought new dimension to every common thing. The forge became a vast beating heart; Thorinutumnu held them all like the palm of a hand. The universe was far more generous than the brothers had allowed. 

So long as no one spoke its name, Erebor did not exist.


	6. Sacred

Nights became sacred; nights became sanctuary. 

The first time Kíli took him in his mouth, Fíli thought he might melt, dissolve, die. It was like running, running, not down but up, up to the topmost peak, getting closer and closer until suddenly he was _there_ and falling, falling, falling. 

The first time he entered Kíli, both wept, touching one another’s faces in wonder. Then the tide came toward them, lifted and carried them, a flood-surge of pleasure that rose and rose. Kíli came with Fíli’s hand covering his heart; Fíli with his brother’s name torn from his throat. 

The one time he hurt Kíli without meaning to, Fíli wept again. Kíli lay full weight upon him, whispering in his ear, _Fílimê, Fílimê, you didn't break me._

The one time he asked to be hurt on purpose, Fíli sensed Kíli's uncertainty _(Is this wrong?)_ and pulled him in, whispering _No, it is good, mark me, mark me, I want it,_ and he let out a low, satisfied growl as Kíli anchored his teeth firmly in his flesh. Once he understood, Kíli gave willingly, and Fíli never had to ask again. 

Every time he brought Kíli to climax, Fíli felt it too. In the lampglow he watched his brother’s face slide from one prayerful expression to another and thought, _This is ours; it belongs to us alone._ He saw Kíli’s eyes close and his mouth open and his breath quicken and his back arch and then he was _there_, exactly _there_ and falling, falling with Kíli, his Kíli. 

But a strange melancholy waited in the background. It took different names: Thorin, Ninur, Dáin, Erebor. Sometimes it had no name at all: the wives neither would marry, the children neither would sire. Someday would come a reckoning, a knock at the gate. The brothers could no more turn it back than they could keep ocean from touching shore. 

All they could do was love, so they did— in defiance, in protest, they loved.


	7. Honor

_Can I?_ Kíli’s voice a blend of eagerness and trepidation. _I want to._

They lay in each other’s arms, listening to the faint, faraway hiss of the surf. The night was pitch-dark, warm, and utterly still. Love pervaded them like a benediction, wiping clean the past. 

_Yes, beautiful man. I want it, too, so much._ Smiling, Fíli laid his cheek on Kíli’s broad chest and listened to his strong heartbeat. _Holy, holy, holy,_ it said, like his own. 

_It fff...feels so good, Mim. I'll show you._

_Show me. I need to feel what you feel, Kílimê._

Poor words to express all that he wished for. To feel the same sense of trust and abandon. To relinquish control and be set free. To give everything, only to be filled up again. All this with Kíli; his true desire. 

Kíli groped under the bed for the unguent jar, then rolled Fíli beneath him and kissed his eyelids, first one and then the other. He nudged Fíli’s head to the side to nuzzle his still-tender scar— discovering in the process that if he licked the whorl of his brother’s ear, he could cause an earthquake. 

_Zanid—!_

_Ssshh. Careful._ But Kíli’s earnestness hid a germ of mischief. _Last night, I wanted you,_ he murmured against his brother’s throat. _I ww…wanted you so much, but you were asleep. _His fingers traced secret runes against Fíli’s inner thighs, coaxing them apart. _I thought to wake you up. But you were so, so, SO very tired…_

_Not so tired that— _ohhhh! 

_Sshhh, Nadad! What did I just tell you?_

Stifled laughter and thump of playful fist against bicep. Then, for a time, soft rustling, hitched breath, the sound of wet against wet. 

As his fingers worked Fíli open, Kíli murmured endearments against his sweat-stippled temple. _Golden brother. Brightness. Marvel._ Then he did something with his hand, a tentative upward flick, and blue-white fire raced along all of Fíli’s bones. 

Kíli had spoken to him of a mysterious pleasure deep inside, likening it to bright sparks struck from a flint. Fíli had watched his _naddith _buck helplessly in the thrall of that pleasure; ever since then, he had wondered and wanted. But this, this surpassed every poor imagining. It obliterated reason, stripped him of speech, took away everything except a blind, mindless instinct to thrust like an animal in rut. 

_Did you feel it?_ Kíli whispered. _Mim!_ It filled him with pride and excitement to know the pleasure he could offer; his cock throbbed in empathy against the soft skin of his brother’s hip. He twisted his hand again, stroking deep, and splintered oaths tumbled from Fíli's lips as he pulled at the headboard with both hands. When he was again able to speak, he begged. _In me, in me, Kílimê, please._

Slow, slow, settling into a rhythm like the rock of a boat in harbor. 

Once, before the war, Fíli stood on a high mountain cliff looking down at a canyon filled with clouds. One of the clouds detached from its fellows and crept up the sheer rock face toward him. He would always remember the exhilaration of its approach, the split second in which the cold, pure vapor enveloped him completely before passing onward into the sky. He sank to his knees and watched the cloud sail up and away, certain that he would never experience such a thing again. 

But Kíli was magma, not cloud; blazing heat, not chill mist. Fíli knew that he would gladly, gratefully immolate himself in that fire, time after time after time. 

_Oh, Mim, you’re so—_ Kíli rasped. 

_You are, too. Oh, little love, you are, too._

Holy, holy, holy.

___________________

The next morning, for the first time, Fíli plaited his _naddith's_ hair. 

Among Khazâd, the duty of braiding is hierarchical. Mothers braid small children’s hair to teach them how; then younger Khazâd tend to older ones. The epithet “one who braids for himself” is given to the Khuzd who is widowed, outcast, or simply – like Kíli – the most junior. As such, he had always shifted for himself without any expectation of someday receiving that devotion— least of all from his older brother. 

He held himself very still throughout; when he turned to face Fíli, joyous tears shone in his eyes. 

_You honor me,_ he said simply.


	8. Pretending

As the moon waxed, so did the sun. First in a trickle, then in a tide, Thorinutumnu’s thick-blooded folk escaped the heat by moving deeper into the earth. Family by family, they shouldered their packs and descended to the caverns to make their holiday camps. 

As children, Fíli and Kíli played catch-me among great selenite spars which glowed like the moon and chimed faintly when struck. In daytime, vaulted limestone chambers echoed with soft, friendly laughter; at night, a percussive symphony of water droplets lulled young and old to sleep. Living cheek-by-jowl underground was so pleasant, every summer the young Durins prayed for heatwaves. 

Now they startled Dís by saying, _Mother, must we?_

_A little society will do you some good,_ she asserted. _These are your folk. You cannot hold yourselves apart forever. Anyway, it's tradition._

The safety Fíli and Kíli felt within Thorinutumnu's walls had always given them courage to step outside. But the caverns offered no privacy, no retreat. Everything was in the open. An overbold glance might stoke a blush too furious to ignore; the echo of a whispered word might grow into a shout for all to hear. And Fíli and Kíli were Durin princes, subject to intense scrutiny. People were curious about them as it was; should they slip, judgment would be pitiless. 

There was only one way to avoid it: avoid each other. 

_They’ll think we’ve had a fight._

Kíli snorted at Fíli's quiet words. Well he remembered that their last few playful attempts at sparring ended rather differently than they began. He for one didn’t mind losing. 

_S-so what do we do?_

_We let them._ Fíli looked up from his pack. _We pretend. Think of it as another game, Kíli. Instead of catch-me, we’re playing keep-away._

_Can’t, can’t we just… just… _Switching to hand-signs, Kíli gestured frantically at first, then with dawning purpose. 

_(I will hate not holding you. I will hate not talking to you.)_

_We_ will _talk, ‘ibinê— every day, all the time. But only we will know it,_ Fíli assured him. 

Their ruse was simple: they strode into the caverns staring daggers at one another. Fíli touched Kíli’s arm; Kíli knocked his hand away. Fíli threw Kíli a look of disgust, dropped his pack on the far side of the fire pit, and kicked it for good measure. Kíli tore the strap of his own pack in his haste to get free and get away. Off he stomped, and Fíli threw his hands up. 

From that point onward, each merely had to act as though the other vexed him beyond words_. Don’t even ask,_ they told their friends. _Can’t reason with him. No point._ But even as they sneered and sucked their teeth, messages of a different kind were flying back and forth. 

Frowning, Fíli nibbled on the tip of his thumb as if deep in thought. When no one else but Kíli was looking, he lightly traced his brother’s crest upon his parted lips. 

_(These belong to you.)_

Kíli engaged in a spine-cracking stretch and trailed a lazy hand over his left side, near his heart, where Fíli normally rested at night. 

_(Here is empty and lonely without you.)_

Around one finger Fíli wound a sidelock which - like all of his plaits - was coming undone. To keep up their pretense, Kíli would do no braiding for his _nadad_ in the caverns— but neither would his _nadad_ braid for himself nor let anyone, even Dís, touch what was Kíli's. 

_(See? If not you, then no one at all.)_

On the other side of the cookfire, Kíli spliced his fingers together down to the roots, then tucked both thumbs inside the shelter of his clasped hands. 

_(I wish we were together alone where no one else can see.)_

And of course, the most important sign, secret to the very last. 

_(I'm here.)_

_(I'm here.)_

At night they lay apart, feigning sleep, alert to one another's stirrings. When the fire died out, each stretched out his arm so that their fingertips brushed. This was their only indulgence. Come morning, they resumed their keep-away game. 

To everyone’s knowledge, it was a typical sibling silent treatment. They’d seen brothers argue before and knew the shape conflict draws in the air— but this was not it, and the difference disquieted them. The brothers' true feelings boomed loud as thunder, filling the caverns end to end. Every nerve teetered on a knife-edge without anyone knowing why. 

Three long days and nights passed. On the fourth morning - slack-jawed from sleeplessness - Dís banished her sons to the surface. _Go, fight each other, kill each other, anything,_ she groaned. _Just... do it aboveground._

Fenja alone noted that the boys' packs had never been unpacked.


	9. Slow

They could have touched at any point— the ascent to the surface, the hike to Thorinutumnu, even the climb upstairs to their room. The click of the door latch should have broken this fast. But patience honed hunger, and anyway, time was theirs now. If they wanted to, they were free to take it. 

Perched side by side on the edge of their bed, they slowly shed the weight of their world. Hoods, belt pouches, scabbards, wrist cuffs. They neither looked at nor touched each other, nor spoke. Lighter and lighter they grew; silence reigned except for the sounds of unclasping and unbuckling. 

Fíli folded his outer caftan into a tidy rectangle. 

Kíli slung his conspicuously on the floor. 

Fíli stood up their discarded boots, lining up toes and heels. 

Kíli buckled their belts together into one continuous loop to hang on the bedpost with a flourish. 

_Since you're so good with your hands,_ teased Fíli. He had been fumbling in vain with his own trouser ties; now he lay back on the pallet like an offering. Kíli knelt to oblige him with a smile that could blind the sun. When he was finished he laid his cheek upon the slope of his brother’s ribs, riding their rise and fall. 

Finally, Fíli pulled at his brother’s shoulders. _Come,_ he whispered. His voice was smoky-hoarse, as after a day at the forge. _No more waiting. Come._

It was enough at first, to be close enough to feel each other’s breath and touch each other’s faces, to be like children in the caverns, reaching out blind and finding each other in the pitchblack mystery. 

When they opened their eyes, Kíli thanked Mahal he was already lying down; otherwise he would have toppled like a sapling before his brother's storm-blue gaze. As for Fíli, days of subterranean darkness ill-prepared him for the liquid black of Kíli's eyes. A person might drown. A person might wish to. 

Kíli’s mouth was a lush oasis at the far end of a desert; parched for love, Fíli drank and drank. There seemed no end to his thirst. Kíli’s hardness pulsed alongside his own, arousal mingling wet and warm and musky between them. All the while they traded a single, blissful syllable back and forth from mouth to mouth: _Mmmmm. Mmmmm._

_(You please me; do I please you?)_

_(Yes. Yes.)_

Finally sated from kisses and yearning after something more, Fíli nudged Kíli onto his back. Sitting astride, he caught Kíli’s wrists and crossed them above his head, pressing down firmly to show his _naddith_ what he wanted. 

_You remember?_ he whispered, face flushed scarlet. 

Kíli's cheeks also burned. He did remember, and he manfully kept his hands in place as Fíli caressed his flanks and belly, pausing to stroke the silky fragrant hair under his arms. But when Fíli traced the length of his cock with one calloused thumb, Kíli had to twist his fists in the pillow beneath his head to keep them still. 

Within the circlet of his brother’s fingers, the head of Kíli’s cock swelled like ripe fruit, tight-skinned and trickling sweet juice. Fíli rubbed its ridge lightly and watched for Kíli’s reaction. A hiss of inward breath, another burst of juice running over his fingers, and Kíli’s throaty plea: _Fíli. Together._

So Fíli relented and was himself taken in hand; they would travel this road side by side. 

Neither fixed their eyes on the horizon; whenever it came into sight, they halted together and let it recede again. Time flowed like honey, slow, sweet, unmeasured; pleasure gathered a fraction at a time until it trembled on the edge, awaiting the single drop more that would begin the cascade. 

They watched each other's faces until Kíli couldn't anymore, and then he was coming, coming, cock jerking powerfully, lashing them both with seed to from navel to throat. As jolt after jolt wracked his _naddith _to the roots, Fíli felt the same astonishment and awe he always had from the first and always would until the last. And then it was his turn to be laid down: Kíli between his legs dragging his seed-slick belly back and forth against the underside of his cock, _again, again, again,_ until Fíli rocked his hips up hard and rode out a blinding climax with his _naddith's_ shoulder between his teeth. 

A drawn-out dazed moment, and then they both began to laugh. 

_I mmm...missed you, _groaned Kíli, pressing his sweaty face against Fíli's heaving chest. 

_Zanid,_ was all breathless Fíli could manage. _Zanid._ Then again came their refrain: _Mmmmm. Mmmmm._

For a time they slept brow to brow, arms spanning ribs that rose and fell in unison. Fíli drifted up at a feathery touch: Kíli’s breath stirring the loose strands of his sidelock; Kíli’s lips murmuring the deepest of secrets against his skin. 

_Light of my heart; sun of my sky._

These were not simple endearments, and both of them knew it. Kíli spoke them believing that they would not penetrate his beloved's sleep; Fíli pretended to be asleep so that he could go on listening. 

_Forge-fire of my soul; master of my inner name._

What both longed to say and hear was the one word beyond reach. For now, it mattered nothing: in thought and deed, with hands and mouths and bodies and breath, they made the vow long before they could speak it.

___________________

A mighty thunderstorm rolled through that night, paring away the heat that stifled the landscape and filling their room with flashes of heaven's light. As he slowly immersed himself deep within his brother’s body, Fíli whispered, _Thank you. Thank you._

_For what?_ asked Kíli, knowing full well. 

_For this,_ answered Fíli, meaning much more.


End file.
